TTTE True Story
by The Nerdinator
Summary: You all know about The Ballad of Dominic. But what happened BEFORE that? (BoD-canon AU of the TVS up until The Great Race.) Today: Skarloey gets spooked by a bridge, Crovan is a moron, and Glynn and Glinda worry about their future.
1. Edward Helps Out

You may be wondering why I'm doing this. Well, remember the story about Diesel Ten, er, Nick, and how he's learning to be himself? How did things in that universe differ from the one you're no doubt more familiar with?

Here's the story of how. And it doesn't start with a tank engine named Thomas.

No, like the original stories, it starts with a tender engine named Edward.

* * *

 _October 9, 1922_

A hundred years earlier, the Northwestern Railway was but eight years old. The Great War had only recently ended, and the world had entered a new age.

Tidmouth Sheds in those days housed but six engines, and right now they were listening to a radio report about post-war operations in Mainland Europe. "Ha!" Alfred, a pompous blue ex-LNER B12, smirked. "Those blasted Gerrys really got their just desserts, didn't they?"

"Bloody did!" laughed Juliet, a red ex-LNWR Claughton Class. "Those blokes are lucky we didn't blow 'em to smithereens!"

"Hm..." Eagle, a red ex-L&YR Class 27, frowned. "Don't you think you're celebrating prematurely?"

"What's 'prematurely' mean?" Crovan, a blue ex-GCR 8K, asked.

"It means you're doing it much too early before you know that nothing else is going to happen to make it worse or better."

"Oh, don't be such a spoilsport!" Alfred snapped. "Be glad! This was the War to End All Wars, you know!"

"Or was it?"

This question came from Edward, a blue ex-Furness K2. He was the oldest out of all the engines in the roundhouse. Though smaller and not as strong, he had an innate sense of wisdom to him.

"Whatever do you mean, Ed?" Juliet asked quietly.

"I mean that there's going to be consequences. The instigators of the war were Serbia and Austria, so why aren't _they_ having to pay reparations? This war was nothing more than a bunch of petty family drama."

"Shut up!" Alfred growled. "What do _you_ know? You never went to the mainland to fight!"

"And neither did you!" Edward retorted. "But I know a loose end when I see it. This upwards economy can't sustain itself forever, and the way I see it, it's going to crash by the end of this decade. The Germans will become angrier than ever, wanting revenge by any means once they can't pay us back, and some opportunist will take the chance to hijack its government for their own personal agenda."

"Do you really think that'll happen?" Henry, a green experimental hybrid between an LNER A1 and a GNR C1, asked timidly.

"I don't know," Edward replied. "But given that such things have happened before many times, it's a safe bet that if we don't act now, it'll happen again. And _that_ fight will not be the War to End All Wars; it'll be the War to Ruin the World For the Rest of Time."

"...Well, that was bloody _depressing_!" Juliet said angrily.

"The truth hurts sometimes," Edward shrugged.

"Yeah! That was scary! No wonder they don't pick you anymore!" Crovan added.

"Don't you go there!" Edward snapped.

"Hey, the truth hurts," Alfred snarked, and the shed was silent for the rest of the night.

* * *

Edward sighed the next day as he shunted trucks in the yard. "David, am I old?"

"Depends on who you ask," the blue ex-LT&SR 69 replied. "For a human, not really. For an engine? Who knows?"

" _I_ know what you are," said a gray 7-plank wagon. "You're just a bunch of old iron!" She cackled to herself, but screamed when Edward shoved her down the line.

"Back off, Splinter!" Edward barked. He sighed. "That was...oddly therapeutic."

"I know, I just _love_ hearing their screams," David chuckled. "Don't worry Edward, you've got friends! There's me, and Eagle, and Henry, and the coffeepots, and the coaches I think..."

"Thanks, David."

"Anytime, chum."

Suddenly, a man ran up to Edward. "Edward, you used to pull coaches on your old railway, right?"

"I did, why do you ask?"

"Dean cracked a cylinder during his passenger run!"

 _"Again?!"_

"Yes, and we need you to take his train while Eagle takes him to the Steamworks!"

"I'm on my way." And Edward set off with a new puff to his wheelturns.

"Whiteleggspeed, Edward!" David called to him.

* * *

Dean, a green ex-GWR 3300, grimaced as Eagle pulled him away. "Get well soon, Dean!" said the first of the coaches, Ecgwynn. She and her sisters, Eelffleed and Eadgifu, were now stranded. But not for long.

"Hello, ladies," Edward said on arrival. "I'll be taking you to the rest of the stations."

"Ooh!" Ecgwynn swooned. "You haven't taken us since the war ended! Bloody shame too, you're one of the best engines here!"

"Indeed," Edward supposed, coupling up to Ecgwynn. "Come along, come along."

"We're going, we're going," the coaches replied, and Edward smoothly chuffed away.

* * *

"Well, I think that's the most excitement _I'll_ ever have again," Edward sighed sadly as he dropped the coaches off at Knapford Yard that evening.

"I must disagree, Edward."

Edward gaped. "S-sir?!" Approaching him was Sir Christopher "Topham" Hatt, the controller of the entire NWR.

"You're a really useful engine, Edward, and I'm sorry that I haven't considered your need to do more diverse work than just shunting. So I'd like you to pull Dean's trains until he's repaired, and then we'll alternate between the two of you to reduce the strain on him."

"Excellent idea, sir. But...shouldn't I be repainted first?"

Sir Christopher chuckled. "I suppose so. And don't worry about your shunting, David's going to be getting some...help."

* * *

"You WHAT mate?!" Juliet shrieked at David, who'd come to deliver the news to the engines of the roundhouse.

"We are NOT _common_ tank engines! We do NOT _shunt_!" Alfred growled.

"Sorry gang, fat man's orders. I'm still going to _make_ the trains, but _you're_ going to fetch them yourselves," David replied coolly. "There simply isn't enough of me and my splendor to go around the yard."

"Sounds fair enough," Henry admitted. "Though I question the 'splendor' part of the equation..."

"Oh shut up, Henry," Alfred groaned.

"Well, I must say, Edward must be quite pleased with himself," Eagle mused. "So good on him, then."

And that, dear reader, is what started it all.


	2. Bulldog

_March 6, 1923_

"Good morning, Henry!" Duke, the 2'3"-gauge Mid-Sodor Railway's brown Small England and its No. 1 engine, greeted. "Come with our coal shipment already?"

"Yes indeed!" Henry grinned as he was uncoupled from his trucks. "I had to come early, I'm supposed to take a new engine up that new branchline to Peel Godred."

"Why would you have to carry them? Are they narrow gauge, like Frederick?" Duke wanted to know.

"No, they're standard gauge. Still don't know _why_ , though." Henry shrugged. "I guess I'll just have to find out when I get to Tidmouth Harbor. How are things here?"

Duke groaned. "Not too good. Smudger's being a stupid git as usual. And now I have to teach Falcon about the Mountain Road, the toughest part of the line. At least Stuart, Albert, Jim, Jerry, and Atlas are _somewhat_ reasonable."

"I hear you," Henry agreed. "Well, see you later." And off he went.

Duke grumbled to himself. "This would never suit his grace, what I'm about to do." He left to go find Falcon.

* * *

"Okay, okay, I just had a repaint and I'm NOT ready to get it dirty," Falcon, a starch blue Falcon Works Olomana saddletank, griped to Duke.

"And I'm supposed to care?" Duke asked.

"See, this is why no one likes you! You're a right fusspot, you are!"

"Be _quiet_ , Falcon! Now, the Mountain Road is very steep and the curves are often quite sharp. That's why we don't have buffers, to keep them from locking up."

"Then why don't we have knuckle couplers instead of these flimsy hooks and chains?"

"I don't know! Let me get in front of you and lead our train."

"But how can I learn the line if all I'm staring at is your boring old tender? Let _me_ lead and I'll learn it that way."

"Suit yourself."

* * *

"Okay, everyone, I'm here!" Henry announced.

"'ello, 'enry!" Clementine, an ex-LSWR G6, greeted Henry. She, along with ex-MR 1377 Noah, ex-NER E1 Earcna, and ex-Caledonian 498 Thirteen, were the four black tank engines who worked Tidmouth Harbor. "Your delivery is over there!"

"Thank you!"

"You know, I don't rightfully know what he is," Earcna mentioned as he passed. "He _says_ he's an engine, but he sure doesn't _look_ like one."

"I 'ave ta agree with that," Clementine said. "'e's the strangest engine I ever saw!"

"I can _hear_ you, you know," came an unfamiliar voice. Henry puffed up and saw the new engine resting on a flatbed. He was painted bronze and had an odd shape. Unbeknowst to Henry, he'd just met an LNER EF1, though at the time that classification did not exist.

"Hello," Henry said. "I'm Henry."

"And I'm Faraday," replied the new engine.

"Um...if you don't mind me asking, where's your funnel? And your bunker?"

Faraday chuckled. "I don't _need_ those, Henry. I'm an _electric_ engine. I get my power from overhead wires. See these folded contraptions on my roof? Those are pantographs. I lift them up so they're touching the wires, and then _whammo_! Off I go!"

"Very interesting. But why an electric engine?"

"Well, from what I know, Peel Godred's buried in the middle of Sodor surrounded by mountains on all sides," Thirteen mused. "I know _I'd_ hate to have to go all that way to drop off coal."

"And there's a big dam there that provides all the power I need," Faraday finished.

"Well then, how about I get you there?"

"That would be marvelous."

* * *

"Fuddy-duddy, fuddy-duddy!" Falcon cursed under his breath.

"What, just because I keep telling you to pay attention to the track?" Duke asked skeptically.

"No! It's because you keep going on about all this old stuff that no one cares about!" Falcon huffed. "If you like living in the past so much, why don't you up and go live on Skarloey? And would it kill you to go a little faster?"

"Falcon, you impudent scalywag, we're not pulling a train! This is meant to be a _learning_ experience. So pay attention to the track and not to your speed! Though you _should_ be mindful of your timeliness as a general rule, safety comes first on the Mountain Road." Falcon scoffed at this and they continued in silence.

* * *

Henry stopped at Knapford to catch his breath. "Hello, Henry," Edward said courteously. "Who's your new friend?"

"Faraday's the name, the Aluminium Works shall be my game," Faraday introduced himself. "This is the second time Henry's stopped. Is he alright?"

"He suffers dreadfully, but none of us care!" Alfred cackled as he passed with the Wild Nor'wester, the NWR's own express train. Henry whimpered at the statement.

"Henry's an experimental hybrid engine, a cross between a prototype LNER A1 and a GNR C1," Edward explained. "As a result of his heritage he has great strength but an undersized firebox. Sometimes it's hard for him to build up steam, especially when the coal is low in carbon."

"Ah," Faraday nodded. "I see. Well," he said to Henry, "cheer up, sport. You can do it." Henry, encouraged by this, was able to bring up his fire enough to set off once again.

* * *

"I don't like this tunnel," Falcon muttered. "I can't see the sleepers two inches in front of my face!" Duke sighed. It had been a long day.

Suddenly, a bright light came from the end of the tunnel. Because Falcon had been looking up and not down, he was blinded by the late winter sun. "AUGH!" As a result, he wound up missing a sharp turn and his front half came off the rails, dangling precariously off the track above the valley below. "OH BLOODY HECK! I'M GONNA DIE! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"No you aren't, Falcon! Not if I have a say in it!" Duke said firmly. "Now will you stop shaking? I can't pull you up if you shake!" He tried to pull Falcon up. Falcon's crew scrambled out of their engine and helped move their engine into a more stable position.

Suddenly, Duke's wheels turned on their own. "Duke's low on water!" realized his driver. "If we don't refill his tender we're not going to be able to do it!" Luckily, there was a worker's cottage nearby, and the man who owned it graciously let them fill buckets of water with his sink. Once his thirst was quenched, Duke quickly hoisted the smaller engine up.

"There we go!" Duke sighed.

"Wow...thanks," Falcon said, respectfully quiet. "But...why?"

"Because no engine deserves to die like that," Duke replied. "Besides," he chuckled, "you just got repainted, it'd be a shame if it spoiled so soon." Falcon sighed in relief, rolling his eyes happily.

* * *

"I worry about Henry," Edward said to his driver. "If he keeps randomly stopping like that he's going to the scrapyard for sure!"

"Don't worry, old boy," Charlie Sand replied. "Sir Christopher values you Lifers. That's why all of Sodor's engines are living."

"I hope you're right." Edward stopped at Maron, where Eagle was dropping off some vans.

"Edward, did you hear?" Eagle asked. "There's a big hullabaloo on the Mid-Sodor railway!"

"There is?"

Eagle nodded. "Duke saved Falcon's life! He's a hero!"

"Well, he always _did_ have a begrudging compassion for his fellow engines. I suppose Falcon will take him seriously from now on."

* * *

And Falcon did, recounting his tale that night in one of the sheds. "I'm telling you, Duke's a fusspot, but he's not half-bad!"

"Wow, that must've been scary!" Stuart, the green Kerr, Stuart & Co. Olomana saddletank, gulped. "But I'm glad you're alright!"

"Scary?" Stanley, or Smudger as everyone called him, a red Baldwin 10-12-D with dull green accents, scoffed at this. "You boys haven't seen the mountains in the states! Those'll give anything here a run for their money!"

"Regardless of whose mountains are bigger, Duke proved he was firm like a bulldog, never letting go," Albert, Falcon's sky blue younger brother, said in admiration. "He should be an inspiration to us all."


	3. You Can't Win

_May 12, 1924_

Duke whistled. "Everybody get on, I don't want to leave you behind." People piled into his coaches and off he started. As he started off, he coughed. "Blagh!"

"I say, Duke, do you need any help? Perhaps you're getting old?" Tim, a snooty black Beyer Peacock Olomana box tank who'd worked on the Arlesdale Tramway before its closure, asked haughtily as he passed.

"No! Just some routine maintenance is all I need."

* * *

Maintenance was right. Duke needed his tubes cleaned. His crew were just finishing up at around six o'clock when Stuart entered the yard. "Hallo, Granpuff!" Stuart wheeshed.

"Please stop calling me that."

"Well, anyway, there's a passenger train to the harbor at sundown. You're on it."

"Smudger came off the rails again?"

"Yep."

"He's going to get himself removed from service, that moron. Are ALL Americans that stupid?"

"No, just him," Jerry, the lime green Barclay six-coupled, remarked as he passed with a goods train.

Stuart looked at Duke, concerned. "Duke? Should I be ready to help you in case you need it?"

"Bah! I can manage."

"Famous last words," Jerry muttered to no one in particular.

* * *

Edward puffed down the Ffarquhar branchline, which was normally managed by four Wrightson Coffeepots named Glynn (red), Glen (blue), Glinda (green), and Bartholomew (black). "I'd like to have a branchline one day," Edward remarked as he pulled into a station.

"Oh, thank goodness you're here, Eddy old boyo," Glen said weakly from the front of two orange-brown Stroudley coaches. "Boiler sludge again. I swear it'll be the end of us. Annie and Clarabel need to get to the top station and promptly."

"Alright. Happy to lend a buffer." Edward coupled up to them and they were off.

"How are things, Edward?" Clarabel, the brake coach, asked.

"Yes, we've hardly heard anything from the main line," Annie added from ahead. "Is it true you're no longer just shunting?"

"Indeed it is." Edward sighed.

"Are you alright?"

"I've been thinking about the world. The big engines sans Henry don't believe me when I say that a new war is coming. But after the Beer Hall Putsch last fall, I can't help but feel that it really is."

"But who's going to start it?" Annie asked.

"That funny little man who led the thing, no doubt," Glen suggested. "He doesn't seem right in the head."

"My thoughts exactly. He needs to be dealt with and fast. Otherwise he'll do horrible things the likes of which we couldn't have dreamed up before," Edward finished gravely.

* * *

Duke puffed along with the evening passenger train, taking in the sights of his home, when suddenly he felt weaker. Steam hissed from his valves, which had come loose.

"Oh, bollocks!" snapped his driver. "I _knew_ we should've checked Duke over elsewhere!"

"Nothing we can do now except call for help," replied the fireman. He did, and they struggled on to the next station. Once there, Tim and Stuart arrived and coupled up in front of Duke.

"Ha! See? You _are_ getting old," Tim gloated. Stuart felt sorry for Duke and said nothing.

They continued on to the harbor, and Tim took half the coaches to the boat. Stuart hauled the remainder, and Duke, to the last station. The route ran over a tall hill, and Stuart wasn't accustomed to the steep slope. "Oh!" he groaned. "This one's tough!"

"My valves may be loose, but I can still make steam!" Duke replied. "Driver, let 'er rip!"

Suddenly, the train lurched forward as the tender engine's systems roared back to life. Duke surged forward, Stuart assisting where his elder's valves couldn't.

* * *

Juliet pulled into Kirk Ronan. "Everybody off!" she announced. Passengers began spilling out. "Ah, this is the life! I can't believe Sir Topham lets me pull this glorious train to the Dublin charter every day!"

"Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but that may not last for much longer."

"What?"

The other voice had come from Devonia, a GWR Achilles and the private engine for the Minister of Sodor. She was painted Tyrian purple and was purchased for the Minister following her 1908 withdrawal.

"Devonia? Whatever are you doing here?" Juliet asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're not a bleedin' normie engine! And what do you mean, won't last for much longer?"

"The LMS isn't happy at how much revenue your train is raking in," Devonia explained. "They want to absorb our railway into it, and your train's being used as a justification. I've brought the Minister and Sir Topham here so they can have a meeting. By the looks of things, this charter might get reduced to just Tuesdays and Fridays. I'm sorry, but a compromise has to be reached if we're to remain a safe haven for Lifers."

Juliet scowled. "Well, f–"

* * *

At the final station on the Mid-Sodor, a boy looked confused. "Why does this train have two engines? It normally doesn't need two."

Duke was about to explain but Stuart beat him to it. "I broke down and Duke is helping me!"

"Oh! That's very nice of you, Duke!" The boy, satisfied, followed his parents into the coach.

* * *

That night at the sheds, Duke looked at Stuart, confused. "Why did you lie?"

"Because you've suffered enough embarrassment for today, Granpuff. You can rest up while we take your trains until your valves are tight again. We do like you, well, some of us do."

Duke smiled. "Thanks, Stuart. And it just goes to show, life can't win if you're determined to fight it."


	4. Snow

_October 19, 1925_

A sudden blizzard had descended over the island a few nights ago. It had taken many long hours of work during the ensuing days, but the six engines of Tidmouth Sheds had successfully cleared the main line. The NWR's numerous branchlines, however, still needed clearing.

"Alright, everybody, there have been a few updates regarding the LMS' desire to absorb us," a foreman said to the six engines. "There is good news and bad news. The good news is they will let us be."

The engines whistled in joy. They would be safe now.

"However, we have had to reduce our profits so as to lower the competition against them. As a direct result, as we have expected, the Dublin charter has been reduced to running on Tuesdays and Fridays only." Juliet groaned at this.

"Anyway, on to today's schedule. Edward, you will be helping the Coffeepots clear the Ffarquhar branchline. Juliet, you're going to take the Wild Nor'wester and once at Barrow-in-Furness, you shall go to Vicarstown to help clear out the yard. Crovan, you'll be handling a slow goods train to Norramby. Eagle, you're going to take a local on the Brendam line and help clear that. Henry, you're taking a local down the main line. Alfred, you will be using the experimental snow-chopping machine wherever you may be needed."

As he left, Alfred looked confused. "Snow-chopping machine?"

"It's a big boxy thing that has blades inside it to suck snow in and reduce big drifts into powder," Eagle explained. "I collected it from Tidmouth Harbor a few weeks ago with David."

"Speaking of David, I wonder what he's up to?" Edward mused as he puffed onto the turntable.

Crovan scoffed. "He's a common tank engine! Nothing worth wondering about there."

* * *

David, meanwhile, was getting ready to leave Knapford Yard for the Waterton branchline to clear it. "Are you sure you can handle the yard by yourself?" he asked a visiting Thirteen.

"Of course I can!" Thirteen wheeshed. "Thirteen's a lucky number after all!"

"No," said a van. "It really isn't." David shot him a glare and the truck shut up. With a hearty whistle, David left.

* * *

On the way, he found Dean, who was perpetually unlucky, buried under a drift. "Fancy moving so I can get by?" David asked.

"No," Dean sighed. "My crew's gone off to find help. Until they come back, I'm stuck."

"Huh," David thought. "Well, in that case I'll help spread the word." He reversed to the nearest signalbox and his crew told the signalman what had happened. He switched the points and soon, David was on his way.

* * *

Eventually, David came to the Tunnel Runby, where the Skarloey Railway ran alongside the NWR in Crovan's Gate. The tunnel was blocked off by a large mound of snow.

"Guess I'm tackling that boy, then," David said of the mound.

"Don't worry, we can pull through!" said his driver, patting his engine's brakes.

"In that case..." David built up steam and charged forward. "HUZZAH!" But the mound was too big, and David was quickly buried under it. "Phoo!" he said as he spat flakes out of his mouth.

His face was clear of the snow, though, and as a result he saw someone coming. "My my, too hasty, David. What did they tell you about carelessness?"

"It could happen to any engine, Proteus!"

Proteus laughed. The mustard yellow four-coupled Hunslet saddletank was commissioned for the Skarloey Railway in 1892 as a 2'3"-gauge version of Ffestiniog's Lilla. He worked primarily at Crovan's Gate Steamworks, where he shunted trucks of parts to and fro. However, as the Skarloey Railway only had two other engines, he was also sometimes seen outside of the Steamworks. Such as today.

"It could indeed, David. In fact, it happened to Skarloey not two days ago. Tell you what, how about I tell you what happened while our crews get help?"

"Well, I've got nothing else to do except be cold." Their respective crews left, and this is the story that Proteus told:

* * *

 _"Working in the slate mines is never easy. Especially after heavy snowfall. Trucks could fall into the ravine just by breathing on them! In these conditions, the buffers alone aren't enough to stop them, so snow is sometimes used as a 'second buffer'."_

Skarloey, his namesake railway's No. 1 Fletcher Jennings Class C, entered the mine with some slate trucks. He looked up at the yard above, and gulped when he saw just how large the snowbanks were. "I don't like the looks of those snowbanks," he said nervously.

"Me either, boyo," his driver, Hywel, agreed. "I'll set off a cap and we'll see if your clattering will be enough to cause an avalanche." He opened a box at the back of Skarloey's cab and took out a tiny bag of sand, spiked with sulfur and potassium chlorate. He left his engine and tied the bag to the rail in front of them, then returned and started Skarloey up.

Skarloey ran over the bag, which exploded with a _BANG!_ under his wheel. "Oh!" complained one of the two Lifer slate trucks in Skarloey's train. "What was that?"

"Just taking a safety precaution, Llechi," Skarloey replied to him. "Is it safe?"

"Yes, it is," Skarloey's fireman, Tegan, affirmed. "The snow's staying up there. Come along now."

* * *

 _"But it wasn't_ really _safe. You see, the winch that hauls trucks up the incline wasn't holding up in the sudden cold snap. When one of the trucks in the train got just a tiny bit derailed, that was enough to break it."_

"WHEEEEEEE!" screamed the line of five Lifer slate trucks, accompanied by two lifeless Lugg slate trucks, as they barreled down the line.

"Let's hope the snow stops them!" a workman shouted.

 _"As you can probably figure out, David, this snow is a very dry and powdery sort. So the trucks just went right through a bank, knocking it into the gorge below. And then there was trouble."_

Skarloey heard rumbling and looked up. He gasped. "Cinders and ashes! Avalanche!" He reversed quickly, but the avalanche was quicker, and soon he was buried alive.

 _"Are they okay?" David asked, shocked._

 _"They are. You see, Skarloey's boiler had gotten so hot that it melted the flakes, then the cold of the rest of the snow froze them again into a single block of ice. With that igloo in place, he stayed a little bit warm."_

Three workmen were digging him out when one of them struck ice. "Whoa!" he exclaimed. "Is there a snowball in there?"

"More like a snow _house_ by the looks of it." They uncovered him completely.

Hywel and Tegan were nonchalantly sipping cocoa in Skarloey's cab. Hywel noticed them and swallowed. "What?"

* * *

David sighed in relief. "At least he's okay."

"And by the looks of it, you'll be out quickly yourself." Their crews returned with shovels and began digging the larger tank engine out.

Suddenly, they heard a whistle. "Blasted thing! Work properly!" Alfred growled at the snow-chopping machine, which was mounted to his front. He rolled into the tunnel but the machine spluttered to a stop. He roared in anger, causing the snow on top of the tunnel to fall on him.

David and Proteus burst out laughing. "Cheer up, Alf!" David said. "With your hot temper, you'll have the biggest igloo of all!"

Alfred growled. _"Tank engines. I freaking. Hate. Tank engines."_

"Oh, that's no way to speak to a coworker, now is it?" Proteus asked.

"Indeed not. Keep this up and we're leaving you in there," David added. They didn't mean it, but their point was made.


	5. Henry and the Elephant

_March 28, 1927_

Henry coughed severely as he struggled onto the turntable. "Are you okay?" Eagle asked him, concerned.

"No, I'm not. The coal is...bad today."

"Picky picky, Henry!" Juliet scoffed after Henry finally left.

"He doesn't have a say in the matter," Edward remarked. "His undersized firebox–"

"Yeah yeah, that's what he always says, but we've never _seen_ the inside of his firebox, now have we?" Crovan asked.

"If you ask _me_ ," Alfred remarked, "Henry's just lazy!"

"Settle down, everyone!" A workman came up to them. "We need all buffers on deck if tomorrow's circus is going to go smoothly. So be quick about getting to work! And Alfred, the Nor'wester is getting an upgrade. The Southern Railway has sold us six Lifer Maunsell fifty-nine-foot carriages and they shall replace the lifeless red Stroudley four-axle coaches currently making up your train, which will be relegated to local service. You are to go down the Wellsworth line to fetch them."

"About time I got new coaches!" Alfred boasted.

"Yet you still don't _deserve_ them," Eagle muttered.

* * *

Henry, meanwhile, needed to pick up two new engines for Peel Godred. Faraday wasn't enough to handle the booming line's traffic anymore. So they'd found his Lifer siblings, twins. Wattson was the male, and Jouleia the female. They argued constantly.

"...Honestly, Jouleia, I don't understand _why_ you'd defend what Zongchang did!" Wattson spat.

"I'm not defending him!" Jouleia retorted. "I just think we could've avoided this if we just left China alone in the first place! And furthermore..."

Henry, used to such banter, ignored them. But then he felt himself slowing down, and his firebox growing colder. "Try and keep up the heat!" said his driver. Henry tried, but it was no use; the low-quality coal didn't have enough carbon for him to burn. He slowed to a stop fifty feet before the junction at Peel Godred's start.

Faraday, now painted NWR black with a dark red 1 on his doors, rolled up as far as the pantographs came (in those days the catenary ran the more or less whole length of the line). "And so close, too," he frowned. He looked up at Henry's flatbeds. "Oh, hello you two. Long time no see, huh?"

"I'll say, brother!" Wattson grumped. "We were only alive for three weeks before you departed! And left me with _her_."

"Now now, siblings shouldn't fight like this."

"And engines shouldn't be in the middle of the line!" Alfred growled as he stopped behind Henry. "Move your fat tender!"

"Implying that your own isn't longer than his? I mean, you _do_ have the same configuration as him," the first of the new coaches, Carly, remarked. At the time she and her sisters were still painted SR olive green.

"Shut up, you don't know what you're talking about!" Carly silently fumed while her sisters reassured her, tittering as coaches did.

Juliet and Crovan pulled up on the next track over, double-heading the circus train. "So Henry's broken down again?" Juliet grunted. "Huh, guess he really is really useless."

"You can say that again!" Alfred scoffed. "He's a useless tube of metal!"

"An improper engine!"

"Worth nothing but his spare parts!" Crovan added, and then all three began tearing into Henry. He wanted to cry, but people always said to him that men didn't do that.

To everyone's surprise, it was the newcomers who changed everything when the electric twins belted out a loud **"SHUT UUUUUUUUUUUUP!"** The tracks fell silent.

"We do NOT agree on a lot of things," Jouleia growled.

"But one of the ones we DO agree on is that we _hate_ bullies!" Wattson snapped.

Edward suddenly puffed into view, returning from his local. "Henry, have you stopped again? Fear not, I'll move you." And as he did, Henry looked back at the electric engines with a newfound sense of respect for them.

* * *

Two days later, Henry was asked to go investigate a blockage in Ballahoo Tunnel. As he pushed the trucks in front of him, he still felt sad from being made fun of. The trucks were not much help.

"Cheer up, boy," said his driver. "They'll get theirs in due time. Sir Christopher's son Charles doesn't like their behavior and once he's in charge he promises to do something about it!"

"Really? Well, Chuck always _had_ a strong sense of justice," Henry remarked solemnly.

They finally arrived at the tunnel. "What's the trouble?" Henry's driver asked a workman.

"Something's blocking the tunnels. Big. Alive. Making a dreadful noise. We were hoping Henry might be able to scare it out."

Henry gulped. "Don't worry, a train's bigger than any monster!" his fireman said.

"If you say so." Henry puffed forwards into the tunnel. He didn't like it; it was dark and claustrophobic.

Halfway through, the blockage began to push back, shoving the train out. "Ow!" the truck right in front of Henry complained. "Henry, stop being a pushover and push back!"

"No!" Henry replied sternly. "Blister Box, we can't hurt this creature unless we have to!" He groaned as the creature finally came into the light. A massive bull African forest elephant glowered at the engine, who gulped.

"Well I'll be!" said another workman. "That's Mr. Gigantic, from yesterday's circus! The paper said he'd run off after someone fired a gun too close to him!"

The workmen calmed the beast down with some buckets of water and a plain cake. Mr. Gigantic was on his fourth bucket when Henry suddenly coughed in pain. The elephant was startled and sprayed him with a blast of water.

"Well, you aren't coughing any more," his driver remarked.

Henry stood there dumbly. "An elephant...pushed me. An elephant...hooshed me..."

* * *

Mr. Gigantic was returned to the circus and Henry went home. Only Eagle and Edward were in the shed at the time. "So, you met some exotic wildlife, I heard," Eagle smirked. Henry sighed. "You handled it very well, though." Henry perked up at this.

"Henry, you're one of my best friends here," Edward said. "No matter what others say, I'll always find you really useful."

"Oh, thank you, Ed," Henry sighed in relief.

In the distance, Charles Hatt, at the time twelve, watched them. "And I hope that we can figure out a way to help you," he frowned.


	6. Edward's Brass Band

_October 10, 1927_

"And...gotcha!" Faraday was pulled back onto the tracks by his siblings. Wattson and Jouleia looked more like him now, only Wattson's number was 2 and Jouleia's number was 3.

"If we hadn't been so foolish as to argue all the time, we could've warned you about the busted track," Wattson said mournfully. "We're sorry for being so dumb."

"Well, if you promise not to fight as much, I'll let it go," Faraday smiled. He paused. "Say, do you think we might need different colors to tell us apart?"

"I do," Jouleia nodded. "Our faces look so similar and not everyone is smart enough to look at our numbers...hm."

* * *

Edward smiled. "What's got _you_ in such a good mood?" Eagle asked as they puffed down the Main Line.

"I've been asked to take the Wellsworth Brass Band to tomorrow's concert," Edward explained. "I haven't done something like this since before the war."

"You can see why he's so excited," Eadgifu supplied from the train. "But don't forget you have work to do today too, Ed."

"Don't worry, I won't." To Eagle he said "I have to go to Brendam so I can pick up an inbound goods train and help Dean shunt the remaining trucks."

"Why not have one of the Tidmouth Tanks do it?"

"Clementine had an accident and got a flat wheel. They're strapped as it is."

"Ah."

* * *

Edward arrived at Brendam Docks. "Hello, Dean!" he puffed cheerfully.

"Hi Edward," Dean said timidly.

Suddenly, out of the blue, a crane operator lost control of his crane, and a massive ship's boiler swung into the docks and knocked Edward onto his side. Edward groaned in pain, and his crew had splitting headaches, holding onto the controls for dear life until they could right themselves.

Dean sighed. "I'm bad luck...even talking to someone causes trouble."

"Oh..." Edward winced. "How bad is it?"

"I don't know," groaned his driver. "But I don't think you'll be taking the band tomorrow, Edward. It'll have to be a bus."

"I see." Edward sighed. "And today was such a nice day, too."

"That's Sodor for you," grouched his fireman.

* * *

The next day, Edward awoke to see the fitter approach him. "Hello, Edward," the man said kindly. "Luckily your injuries seem to mostly be superficial, a few nicks in your paintwork here and there and a few bits and bobs needing to be tightened."

"What about my crew?" Edward asked. "Are they alright?"

The fitter sighed. "Don't know. But they're probably not going to be working anytime soon given how hard they hit their heads. Unless we find a relief crew in time you're staying put today."

"I see."

"You okay, Ed?" Clementine asked from her track as the fitter set to work finishing up on Edward's remaining repairs. "'aven't seen you this down in a while. What up?"

Edward sighed. "It's not much, just...after the war I was relegated to shunting duties and shunting duties alone. And when I got let out of the yard again, I thought that maybe things will be better. That I could get another chance at being Really Useful like I once was."

She nodded. "Chin up, love. You'll get yer chance someday. And hey, at least you weren't out in the rain last night."

Edward smiled. "Can't argue with that, I suppose."

* * *

Once Edward was given the all-clear, he puffed out of the works while Clementine stayed behind to have the flat spot in her wheel smoothed out. It was late in the afternoon by now, and the sun was in Edward's eyes. He coupled up to four of the former express coaches and started down the Brendam line for the afternoon local.

He hadn't gone very far when he heard a loud honk. "Odd," he remarked. "That didn't _sound_ like a bus. It sounded like a...tuba?" The honk sounded again.

"Very odd indeed," agreed his relief driver. "We should check it out. Someone might be in trouble." Edward stopped and his crew left their engine to follow the sound. They found a red AEC type S bus stuck in the mud, and in that bus was the Wellsworth Brass Band.

"Oh thank goodness," the driver of the bus said. "We got stuck in the mud left by last night's storm and a breakdown truck can't come because of flooded roads. We've been stuck here for three hours."

"Edward can take you," said the relief driver. "Although I can't help but wonder if you'll be out of practice for tonight."

The tuba player laughed. "Don't worry! I've gotten lots of exercise calling for help!"

* * *

That night, the engines at Tidmouth listened to the band on the radio. "Our next song," said the conductor, "is one we cooked up during practice. We call it 'Edward's Song' after the engine who saved us."

And then they played. Edward sighed happily. "Such nice people."

"Why does _he_ get a song?" Crovan muttered to himself.

"Ah, shaddap, Crovan," Juliet grumbled.


	7. The Old Iron Bridge

_October 9, 1928_

Skarloey sighed. "What a beautiful day!" he smiled.

"Indeed, boyo!" agreed his driver. "Lovely weather! You wouldn't know fall started not three weeks ago!"

Skarloey laughed and continued puffing along the line with a line of slate trucks. They were empties he was bringing back to the yard. He was lucky that none of them were Lifers; the living trucks were getting antsy as of late, their normal vitriol giving way to outright physical violence. Edward had mentioned his unease about the global economy, especially this year; were the trucks plotting a riot if it _did_ collapse, as Edward predicted it would?

Skarloey was too caught up to notice that the bridge in front of him had rotted through until he nearly fell off it. "Oh!" he cried out in alarm.

* * *

Rheneas, a vermillion Fletcher Jennings Class Bb, the railway's No. 2 and Skarloey's half-brother, pulled him up an hour later. "You alright, boyo?" Rheneas asked timidly.

"I can't say for sure," Skarloey replied.

"I know what you mean," Rheneas admitted. "That would've been a nasty tumble!"

* * *

Glinda, the only female of the Coffeepots, coughed. "What a horrid thing, boiler sludge!" she grimaced, noticing that some of it had spilled out of her mouth and onto her green paintwork.

"Indeed," Glynn, the red one and the eldest of the four siblings, agreed as they bustled about the Anopha Quarry.

"Brother, you are _so_ fortunate that you don't get that as often as we do," Glinda sighed. "You're the first of us built and you're going to be the last of us scrapped, I just know it."

"Come now, Glinda. Sir Topham isn't that kind of controller."

" _He_ isn't, but if this island goes under like Ed says it will, who's to say our next controller _won't_ be?"

Glynn sighed in concession. "If only there were laws preventing scrapping of a Lifer who hasn't yet died."

"If only," she agreed wistfully.

* * *

The next day, Mr. Handel Brown approached his engines. "Alright you two, we've got a big day ahead of us." He noticed Skarloey's nervous expression. "Are you alright, Skarloey?"

"The old iron bridge...was it fixed?" Skarloey asked.

"Don't worry, it has. Temporarily. Next week we're going to replace the darn thing like we should've done in the summer." He sighed. "Can you at least promise me you'll try to cross it?"

"I can, sir."

"Excellent. You have a freight train to Green Hills Junction first thing. See to it that it's done."

"Of course, sir."

* * *

Crovan was minding his own business when his signal went red. "Aw, come on!" he griped as he stopped. "We were making such good time, too!"

"Really useful engines don't take rests in the middle of the line, Crovan!" the second of Alfred's coaches, Tabitha, taunted as Alfred passed with the Wild Nor'wester. She and her sisters, who laughed at their remark, were now painted green and cream.

"Shove off!" Crovan snapped back. He sighed. "Women! Don't need 'em, don't _WANT_ 'em!"

"Careful, Crovan," said his driver. "You can't say that kind of thing anymore."

"I can too!"

"Not if you don't want ME to clear your line of that tree," Juliet growled as she puffed by with a crane, snorting embers in his direction. Crovan's eyes widened when one landed dangerously close to his face and laughed nervously before quickly blowing it out.

* * *

Skarloey gulped as he approached the bridge. "I can do this...it's been fixed, I won't fall."

"You can do it, love!" called Cora, his guard's van. Emboldened by this, Skarloey puffed across the bridge.

"Phew!" he wheeshed when he'd finished. "I'll be glad when we replace that next week!"

"Us too," agreed his fireman, patting his throttle affectionately. "Us too."

* * *

The week after, the iron bridge was torn down. A rickety trestle was put in its place until the new bridge would be finished. This one made Skarloey even _more_ nervous. "What's the weight rating on this bridge?" he asked himself as he waited for his signal to cross it.

"Eh," shrugged one of the trucks in his train. "If you _do_ fall, it's been nice knowing you." A pause. "NOT!"

The trucks laughed. Skarloey sighed in exasperation. "If I had hands, one would be on my forehead right now."

"Skarloey!" exclaimed one of the workmen. "Just got a call. Rheneas ran out of water and you need to help him!"

"So THAT'S why I'm here," snarked one of the trucks, a water tanker. "Oh, _joy_."

"Belt up, Tybalt," snapped the workman. Tybalt did so. "He's on the other side of the bridge. Bring Tybalt with you, and _only_ Tybalt." Skarloey gulped, but his brother's health was more important at the moment. He uncoupled from his train, rearranged it so he could couple to the water tanker and take it across the bridge.

* * *

He did so, and soon Rheneas was back in steam. "I guess I should've been more mindful of my water levels," Rheneas said that night.

"OR we need another engine," Mr. Brown said. "Your train was much too long, Rheneas. What were you _thinking_ _?_ "

"I didn't want to be late if I had to make two trips, sir," Rheneas said timidly.

Brown sighed. "I see. Hm...do you think the MSR boys know where to get another engine?"


End file.
